Pawn
by teegar
Summary: Chekov gets in trouble for volunteering for a hostage exchange without his captain's knowledge or permission
1. Chapter 1

Pawn

By Teegar Taylor and Jane Skazi

As his Charexian guard ran a scanner over him, Chekov began to have second thoughts about this entire venture.

"Turn around, please."

At first, the villa had seemed like an obscenely pleasant place to have a prison. It was beginning to take on a properly ominous atmosphere now.

The guard handed him a stack of clothing.

"Your uniform will be returned to you at the time of your release." The official representative of the Charexian government's tone was carefully non-apologetic.

'Whenever that may be,' Chekov added silently for both of them.

"You will be under surveillance at all times," the official continued as the ensign pulled on the garments he'd been provided. "You are forbidden to leave this domicile unless under direct instructions to do so."

The green coveralls were somewhat oversized. They must have been Dr. Kuznetsov's.

"The doors and windows are sealed electronically. You are to make no attempt to disable their locking mechanisms," the official warned. "Supervised walks in the garden are taken once a day - weather permitting. During these walks, you are to follow instructions carefully. No venturing into restricted areas."

Chekov took in a deep breath as he looked up at his guards. They towered over him, forbiddingly inhuman in their appearance.

"Remember that these security measures are taken for your protection as well as for our benefit," the official continued, his large, oddly flat eyes unblinking. "Failure to comply will result in the suspension of certain privileges."

Chekov wondered how often that had happened in the past ten years - and exactly what they considered a privilege.

"We will attempt to fill any reasonable request you may make in regards to your accommodations." The official gestured him forward. "However, bear in mind, our resources are as limited as our knowledge of your species. There are many things we simply cannot provide."

'Like a suitable new career for a quite probably ex-Star Fleet officer?' Chekov thought ironically.

The Charexian official paused before the door to the villa's common room. "Do you have any questions?"

'Billions,' Chekov replied silently. However, instead of sharing his doubts with the Charex, the ensign shrugged and smiled. "No."

Charexian expressions were hard to read, but the ensign was quite sure that the look the official was giving him was frankly dubious.

"Very well," the Charex said, signaling the guard to open the door to the common room. "I leave you to your companions."

"Ensign Chekov," Lt. Dave Hayward said before the ensign was two steps into the room. "Why are you still here?"

Chekov cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. "There has been a change in the situation," he began carefully.

"Where's Sasha?" Lt. Depp demanded.

"That is part of the change I wish to inform you of," Chekov replied, turning to her.

"You don't mean..." Lt. Hayward rose from the oversized sofa and approached him rapidly. "You're not trying to say..."

Although quite Human, Dave Hayward also towered over the ensign.

"Professor Kuznetsov is perfectly fine," Chekov assured him. "He and I..."

"No," Hayward interrupted, his face and voice going icy cold. "You didn't."

Chekov resisted the impulse to take a step backwards. Kuznetsov had warned him about Hayward. "Lieutenant..."

"Where's Kuznetsov?" Depp repeated.

"By now he should be on the _Enterprise_ \- probably in sickbay," Chekov replied. "He and I arranged..."

The ensign's reply remained unfinished due to the sudden impediment of Dave Hayward's big hands closing around his throat.

"No!" the lieutenant shouted, his grip growing tighter. "No!"

"Bones..." As soon as Captain Kirk entered the transporter room, he could tell Dr. McCoy was caught in a dilemma. The medical officer was holding a scanner over an elderly man with wispy white hair, a look of intense professional concern carved into his face. At the same time, it was apparent the doctor was haranguing his patient with unrestrained venom. "What's the situation, Doctor?"

"This is Kuznetsov," the physician answered shortly, seemingly reluctant to let whatever argument he was in the midst of drop.

Kirk recognized the patient from pictures of a younger, healthier Alexander Kuznetsov. That did nothing to explain what the man was doing in his transporter room. "The Charex have released him?"

McCoy scowled - and shot out a hand to catch at Kuznetsov's elbow as the old man staggered. "No. It's not that simple."

"Explain," Kirk ordered, wondering why McCoy was dragging this out.

The doctor took in a breath. "Well, I think the Charex had figured out that they were about to be down to two hostages. They suggested a swap."

Kirk began to have a sinking feeling in his stomach. He looked for the other member of his crew who should also be present in the transporter chamber.

"The professor here persuaded our rather starry-eyed ensign that it would be the gallant thing to do to take his place." McCoy paused to glare at the old man. "So, Kuznetsov gets to go home and enjoy his five or so remaining years of relatively good health while Ensign Chekov is stuck on Charos for the indefinite future. That's about the size of it, isn't it, Professor?"

Kuznetsov smiled complacently, exploding any notion Kirk had been entertaining that McCoy was bullying a helpless geriatric. There was a self-satisfied glow of victory on the man's face. "Mr. Chekov offered to take my place. Why should I refuse?"

Kirk frowned. "So Chekov is...?"

"A hostage on Charos," McCoy confirmed.

"Doctor..."

"Jim, if I could have stopped him I would have," McCoy said, anticipating his captain's unspoken accusation. "Chekov didn't exactly ask my permission. As far I can tell, the deal was made with Kuznetsov while I thought they were reminiscing about the old days in St. Petersburg. When I reported that we were ready to beam up, they simply did a swap. In fact, I'm not one hundred percent sure that Chekov even knew what the professor was up to..."

"Mr. Chekov was fully aware of what he was agreeing to," Kuznetsov insisted, in an accent that nearly duplicated the absent ensign's. "It was his idea... Although, I must admit, I would have been forced to suggest the exchange if he had not considerately done so first."

"Damn," Kirk commented succinctly. "The only orders I have from Fleet were not to interfere in this situation, and now..."

"And now I think the general verdict from those whose opinion is worth having will be that you have made the better of the deal, Captain Kirk," Kuznetsov said, with quiet arrogance. "An experienced political scientist with a reputation that spans dozens of worlds and at least five years of productive life left in him... for one dime-a-dozen ensign?"

The old man didn't seem to notice the sudden drop in the room temperature that his last statement caused.

"The chances are that they won't even keep him for long," Kuznetov continued. "Traditionally, the Charex have a general amnesty for hostages every seventy years. He'll only be - what? Forty-five? when the next amnesty occurs. Practically a young man. If not a very interesting one..."

"Now look here..."

"Dr. McCoy," Kirk interrupted before blood could be shed. "The professor should be taken to sickbay right away."

"Yes, Captain." McCoy steered Kuznetsov towards the door showing admirable restraint.

The medical team arrived at that moment and the old man was transferred to a mobile chair and the gentle hands of a nurse.

"On the planet, he was a lot more charming," McCoy said turning back to his captain. He didn't bother to lower his voice, obviously not caring if Kuznetsov heard his comments, "and seemed a good deal closer to death's door. On a personal level, I can understand how he could have influenced Chekov... an old man, dying, light years from home."

Kirk waited until the transporter room doors closed behind their unexpected guest. "He got royally taken in, Doctor," he said, grimly. "I'm going to talk to the Charex. You'd better go see to your patient."

"What I'd like to do..."

"Take it easy, Bones," Kirk cautioned, at the same time not envying the physician at all. "If Kuzentsov dies, this swap will be more pointless than it already is."

"Calm down!" Lt. Depp ordered. "Both of you!"

Chekov tried to catch his breath. He checked to see if his nose was bleeding. Lt. Depp was a tall woman, as thin and pale as an icicle. She looked like the product of ten years in a sunless prison. Dave Hayward was also tall. Unlike Depp, he was rather heavy set and wore a neatly trimmed beard. He was also intent on murdering Chekov.

The ensign had discovered that there were a very few privileges granted to the hostages. There were the walks in the garden the official had mentioned, native books and music, and the opportunity of access to the common room. He knew this because in the past hour he'd already lost his right to the first for a week because of his altercation with Lt. Hayward and stood in grave danger of losing the rest if the situation continued to escalate.

At present, the Charex had posted a guard inside the common room to keep the peace. Chekov and Hayward were supposed to stay on opposite sides of the room. This arrangement was not working very well. Hayward kept crossing over to the ensign's side and attempting to choke him to death. Depp and the Charex guard had just finished forcibly escorting the lieutenant back to his side.

"Who are you taking orders from?" Hayward thundered, shaking Depp and the guard off.

Chekov searched for the cold towel that the guard had given him earlier. Not only did his swelling eye need it, the search gave him an honorable excuse to retreat further away from Hayward. "No one."

"You're lying!" Hayward roared.

"David," Depp said, stepping in front of him and putting her hands on his shoulders. "It is possible that he isn't lying. Kuznetsov is an old, sick man. He could have just felt sorry..."

Chekov was beginning to feel rather sorry for himself as he sat down in one of the oversized chairs and pressed the cool cloth to his throbbing eye.

"No, no, no," Hayward interrupted. "I smell a plan here."

Hayward must be losing steam, Chekov decided. He hadn't simply pushed Depp aside like he had the other times.

"You're overreacting, Lieutenant," Depp said patiently.

"You're _under_reacting, Lieutenant," Hayward countered. He pointed at Chekov. "Look at him. Listen to him. He's Russian - from the same part of Russia as Kuznetsov."

Depp shook her head. "Coincidence."

"Is it?" Hayward asked acidly. "You knew him, didn't you?"

Chekov knew this question was directed at him, but didn't bother answering it. He reflected that it was a bad sign that after only one hour on this planet, he already found the furniture extremely uncomfortable. The Charex were larger than Humans. Everything was too large and built to accommodate a different anatomy. The ensign was sitting on the lowest chair in the room and his feet barely touched the floor. Chekov sincerely hoped that Dr. Kuznetsov was enjoying every second of his freedom.

"David," Depp began reasonably. "Think. We've been here ten years. Ensign Chekov was probably only twelve or thirteen years old when we arrived here."

"That doesn't mean that there's no connection," Hayward argued doggedly. "And what about his parents? That could be the connection to Kuznetsov. What are your parents' names?"

"Hmm." Chekov made a show of thinking about this. "I don't seem to remember. Perhaps that blow to my head..."

"Why you..!" Depp and the Charex grabbed Hayward before he could rush forward.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant." Chekov smiled. "I am sure it will come back to me as soon as I receive their letters. It should not take more than... oh, five or six years for the first one to arrive."

Hayward struggled to shake off the hands restraining him. "Listen, you little..."

"David." Depp shook him. "David. Stop and think. His father's name is Andrei."

"Andrei?" Hayward repeated.

Depp nodded. "Unless my understanding of Russian parentifics is completely mistaken."

"Pavel Andreivich," Hayward said, making the connection for himself. "Andrei... Andrei Chekov..."

Seeing that he was in a reflective state, Depp and Charex released Hayward. Knowing that reflection had previously been a prelude to further violence, Chekov braced for another attack.

Hayward paced for a moment, lost in thought. "Geothermal engineer," he said suddenly after several moments of reflection. "Moscow Academy of Science. That's right, isn't it?"

Chekov's insides went cold. His father was by no means a famous man. Under normal circumstances, there was little reason for Hayward to know anything about him. It was now quite obvious to the ensign that these were not normal circumstances.

Outwardly, he tried to stay cool. "It's a common name," he replied with a shrug.

"Listen, you...!" Hayward bolted forward, only to be intercepted once more by Depp and the Charexian guard.

"Hayward!" Depp said harshly. "Control yourself!"

"I'm going to kill the little bastard!" Hayward bellowed, struggling to free himself.

"No, you're not," she countered firmly. "You're going to wait." Depp turned long enough to give Chekov an icy look from over her shoulder. "You're going to wait and have the pleasure of seeing Star Fleet do so."

"Problems, Captain?" Spock asked as Kirk stepped out the turbolift and marched to his seat with metaphorical thunderclouds around his head. The junior officers pretended not to notice their captain's obvious bad mood.

"Get me the Charex leader, Lieutenant," Kirk ordered Uhura, ignoring his first officer's question.

"Yes, sir. On screen, now, sir."

An official of the Charex government appeared before on the main viewscreen. Kirk assumed that this was the one he'd spoken to before. He was not yet familiar enough with the Charex to be able to accurately distinguish between them.

"Minister Afax, here," the alien supplied helpfully. "Is there a problem, Captain Kirk?"

Charex physiognomy was difficult to interpret. They looked somewhat like lizards. However, Kirk thought the minister looked more worried than his voice sounded.

"I hope not, Minister. I must inform you that the... deal which you have made with one of my officers has no official recognition. I ask you to reconsider. While I'm not empowered to carry out negotiations..."

"That doesn't surprise me, Captain." Even through the translators, Kirk thought the Charexian's tone sounded bitter. "Throughout this entire affair, no one has wished to negotiate with us. You are only one more in a long line..."

"Minister..." Kirk began.

"If the current situation is not to your liking," the Charex interrupted in a dismissing manner. "I suggest you persuade your government to send us someone who is empowered and willing to negotiate a more congenial arrangement."

Kirk struggled to control his temper. "As a matter of principle, Minister, the Federation does not deal with people who take hostages."

"As a matter of principle, Captain, we will not negotiate unless we have such guarantees of good faith," the Charex countered. "I believe this sort of situation is known as a 'stalemate' in your language."

Kirk bit down on the impolite reply that sprang to his mind and was thankful that he was not a career diplomat. "Minister, I'd like to speak with my officer, if you can permit that."

"To what purpose?"

"To ascertain that I correctly understand what took place and to satisfy myself that he is unharmed." Kirk peripherally noted his bridge officers exchanging glances.

The alien looked at someone out of camera range, apparently for approval or permission to respond. "You may beam down and speak to him. I will take your place as..."

"That will not be necessary."

The alien had a strong facial reaction to this. The captain suddenly wondered if a refusal to accept hostages signified a lack of recognition of the status of people who offered to act in that capacity.

"I would prefer to trust you," Kirk amended to placate any sense of wounded pride. "As I said before, it is not way of the Federation to deal in hostages."

"Very well, Captain." The Charexian's voice sounded calm enough, but the alien's face had not returned completely to a neutral expression. "If that is what you wish. Go to the agreed coordinates and signal your readiness as on the last occasion. We will transport you."

The screen blanked.

"The Charex have detained Dr. McCoy?" Spock queried.

"No," Kirk replied, rising. "I don't think they detained anyone - in their eyes, at least. They swapped Chekov for Kuznetsov."

"Then they have made a tactical error," Spock concluded. "Ensign Chekov has little value in the larger political scheme of things - no more than the Star Fleet officers they already hold."

Kirk blinked at him, then shook his head.

"You'll get along with Dr. Kuznetsov very well, Mr. Spock," he said, heading for the lift. "If McCoy doesn't kill him first."

Kirk felt a slight shiver of apprehension as the transporter beam locked onto him and he reconsidered the Charexian offer of a hostage. Both Kuznetsov and Spock had logically pointed out that an ensign was a poor bargaining chip when the Charex already had two healthy lieutenants. Maybe this was a roundabout way of acquiring a captain.

Kirk dismissed the idea. Kidnapping him wouldn't improve their negotiating position significantly. The Charex demands... whatever they were - the entire situation was so old that its origins had become obscure - were clearly so outrageous that Star Fleet hadn't managed to find an excuse to give in to them. Giving in after negotiation, despite Kirk's earlier protestations to Afax, was Fleet's preferred method of dealing with such situations.

The Charex, however, were an honorable species according to reports. As a rule, someone who dealt with them in good faith would not be detained.

Kirk recalled that Kuznetsov's ship, the S.S. _Bonadventure_, had stumbled into Charex space due to a navigational error. Perhaps, he thought wryly, Chekov had some notion that since a navigator had gotten his countryman into such a predicament, he had some additional obligation to get him out.

Two Charex guards were awaiting him as he materialized. They searched him briefly and efficiently. The planet itself was shielded against unwanted transportation and the Charexian transport system prevented any tracing of their signal. Clearly, the Charex were taking no chances.

Two more guards flanked him. Although they did not draw their weapons, they positioned themselves so they could easily watch him with their large, flat eyes and keep their holstered weapons out of his reach. The driver of the vehicle was unarmed, smaller and dressed differently.

A civilian, Kirk guessed. Maybe of the other sex - assuming that there were only two involved here. Very little was known about the Charex. At the very least, when Chekov was finally released, he could make a career as an expert on his captors. Somehow that thought wasn't much of a comfort.

The vehicle emerged into the open. Broad avenues lined with weeping, flower-laden trees ran between elegant villas in shades of sun-bleached pastels. The place looked like a well-kept Mediterranean resort. Natives were in evidence, strolling, gardening, talking to one another.

Kirk's mode of transport did nothing to draw attention to itself as an armored personnel carrier or a Star Fleet shuttle would have on Earth. The vehicle hovered a few meters above the paved roadway, speeding along at a brisk pace.

The craft finally descended outside a well-kept house, indistinguishable from a hundred others - except for the presence of an armed guard at the gate.

Kirk was escorted forward. There was an exchange of salutes and he was admitted inside. His escort left him to wait in a pleasant, spacious room. The scale of everything was slightly off - handles and shelves were too high, the chairs were a little too big - but it certainly didn't give the impression that the hostages were being deprived or mistreated.

The door opened and Chekov walked in, sporting an impressive black eye. The height of the doorway combined with his disheveled appearance momentarily made the ensign look like a small boy.

"Chekov, what happened?" Kirk demanded, not wasting time on sympathy.

The ensign swallowed and touched his eye gingerly. "I had a disagreement with Lt. Hayward, sir."

Kirk reflected that Chekov was going to have a rather difficult time here if he couldn't get through the first hour of his captivity without getting into a brawl with his fellow inmates. "I want to hear about Kuznetsov," he clarified impatiently.

"Sir..." Chekov began hesitantly and apologetically. "Dr. Kuznetsov is an elderly man in very poor health... He has a family who has not seen him for almost ten years... who, considering his medical condition, possibly may never see him again..." The ensign paused and glanced around warily. "Sir, I am acquainted with members of his family..."

"You mean that you came down here planning this?"

Chekov shook his head. "No, sir. There was no way I could have anticipated... I wasn't expecting to have such an opportunity. I had no idea that the Charex would allow such an exchange..."

"You just seized the opportunity - or rather Kuznetsov did."

"No, sir," the ensign insisted. "Dr. Kuznetsov was most reluctant..."

"Ensign, he was about as reluctant as a drowning man would be to grab onto an unsuspecting plank," Kirk informed him coldly. "And apparently has just as much concern for your welfare as the drowning man would have for the well-being of a piece of driftwood."

"Respectfully, sir," Chekov replied stiffly. "That is an unfair evaluation. It was only with the greatest difficulty I persuaded..."

"I'm sure he allowed you to believe that. Chekov, Kuznetsov has made a fool of you. He was practically gloating when I left him." Kirk studied the ensign's expression for some hint of embarrassment, annoyance or remorse. The Russian merely looked stubborn. "Given the terrible position you've put yourself in, I don't think I need to say much about your disregarding my orders in this matter. In the unlikely event that you ever get back aboard the _Enterprise_, we will discuss it." This did provoke a quick flicker of dismay from the young man. "Exactly what happened with Hayward?"

Chekov ruefully touched his eye again. "He's insane."

Kirk managed not to point out that ten years of imprisonment among aliens light years from home could unbalance anyone. "Ensign, while you're here, he's your immediate superior. You are to obey his legal orders."

Chekov didn't seem to like the idea. "Yes, sir," he replied grudgingly.

"Star Fleet will, of course, do everything to secure your early release."

The ensign nodded dutifully, as if that meant something. Star Fleet had managed to get nowhere in the last ten years. There was no reason to suppose they'd have better luck now. "Yes, sir."

Kirk glanced around the room uncomfortably. "McCoy said the hostages were being well cared for and that Hayward and Depp were in good health..."

"That is also my impression."

"Chekov..." Kirk shook his head. "I was just about to give you the most glowing six month report an ensign could hope for."

"I'm sorry, Captain."

A Charex guard entered. The allotted time for the interview was obviously drawing to a close.

"Well, is there anything else? Any messages...?"

"Lieutenant Depp was saying..." Chekov broke off, seemingly embarrassed.

"Yes?"

"Sir, would you ask the Charex if you could transport some coffee down for us?" the ensign asked. "From what they say, the food is tolerable, but the coffee is very poor and very difficult to obtain..."

"I'll see what I can do." The pathos of the ensign's rather modest request struck Kirk first. After consideration, though, it was the calm practicality of the petition that bothered the captain. Chekov just didn't seem as upset by all this as Kirk calculated he should be. This could be due to sheer bull-headed resolution to see the situation though, or... the ensign's equanimity could be due to the fact that he was acting according to a pre-arranged plan.

Kirk dismissed the thought. Chekov would have had no way of knowing that Kuznetsov was ill in the first place, let alone anticipating that the Enterprise would be in this sector in time to respond to the call from the Charex and that he would be chosen to accompany McCoy planetside. "Try to stay out of trouble, Ensign. I'll see that your family is notified promptly."

"Thank you, Captain." Obeying the gesture of the guard, Chekov turned back towards the doorway from which he'd entered resolutely. However, Kirk heard a small sigh escape the ensign as if he weren't looking forward to whatever lay in wait for him beyond it.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do here, Kirk allowed himself to be led outside and down the path to the transport he'd arrived in.

As he was about to climb into the waiting vehicle, he was joined by a single guard and another of the smaller variety of Charex. This one looked familiar.

"Minister?" he guessed from the alien's clothing.

"Captain Kirk." The Charex executed a complex formal gesture of greeting. It looked something like a stretching exercise from Tai Chi. "I hope you do not mind my taking this liberty, but our discussions with Star Fleet - such as they have been - have met with so little success. I couldn't help hoping that an informal, face-to-face meeting might be productive."

"As I've already said, I have no authority..."

"No, I understand that. I merely wish to restate our demands - our requests, if you like. They are not excessive, and frankly, I must tell you that the housing, guarding, and feeding of three Humans is becoming an expensive drain on our resources. You realize that as a result of the trade embargo, we actually have to smuggle in supplies for them? It's positively embarrassing."

Looking at the alien, Kirk could add another emotional state to his catalog of Charexian facial expressions - distress.

"You could, of course, release them," the captain pointed out.

"That would be political suicide."

"I'm not familiar with your demands," Kirk said. "The entire negotiation process appears to be veiled in secrecy, presumably because of its delicacy..."

"What negotiating process? We attempt to contact the Federation at regular intervals. Generally, we receive the same reply. We are told that whoever is dealing with the matter is currently on vacation, or seconded to deal with more urgent problems. Or, on one occasion, that the official in question was on something called 'paternity leave'. Why is it that mammalian fathers are unable to work? This caused our xenologists great puzzlement. All we require, Captain, is that our boundaries with our immediate neighbors - as agreed at the Venista Nine Summit - be recognized by the Federation. We were told ten years ago that this would happen as a matter of course. When we grew impatient and took hostages to expedite the process, it suddenly seemed that such recognition was out of the question."

"That's all this is about?" Kirk demanded, thinking of the missing files, the confidential codings on those files that still remained in the _Enterprise_ memory banks, the anguish of families and friends waiting for the return of loved ones, not to mention the expense to the Charex at looking after three exotic prisoners.

"Obviously not, Captain," the minister replied, as if reading these thoughts. "The trouble is that I cannot determine what exactly it is about. I would be eternally grateful to you if you could find out on my behalf."

Uhura turned away from her desk in the ship's Communication Center, tired and frustrated with the continuing static from the disturbances in the nearby stellar nursery.

Although the room was the hub of her section, she tried to avoid it. Coming down to the Center almost always meant that things had gotten too complicated to handle from her station on the bridge. She looked at the blinking consoles beside her. It was not a pretty sight. A backlog of messages, official and personal, was building up into a nightmarish tangle.

The fact that one of those outgoing was going to be less than welcome didn't make the lieutenant any happier that it was going to be delayed. She'd seen a holo of Chekov's mother. Now she kept imagining that cheerful, kindly face go pale and anxious.

"Lieutenant?"

Uhura was momentarily confused by the appearance of the white-haired man in the doorway, clad in a sickbay robe and slippers. He was smiling apologetically, like a favorite grandfather presuming on a child's affection for a favor. Surely this couldn't be the monstrous Kuznetsov? McCoy had made him sound more like one of Stalin's more enthusiastic deputies.

"Can I help you, Professor?"

He took a couple of hesitant, unsteady steps into the office. His hands were trembling. Perhaps this was simply the side he showed when he wanted help.

"May I sit down?" He pointed to a vacant chair.

"Of course." Uhura kept her tone brisk and efficient.

"As you may imagine, I'm eager to send messages to my family. I understand that subspace channels to Earth are out of action at the moment, but that in other directions..."

"Anything we send out towards the relay station at Questor will get through, but it will probably take longer than simply waiting for the storm to die down. I expect the interference to clear within twenty-four hours."

"Yes. I dare say this sounds... sentimental. I'm not very well... and perhaps I'm worrying unnecessarily. But there are a couple of messages I'd like to send now, myself, rather than just have them waiting in a queue somewhere. I know you would dispatch them as soon as possible, but I may not be here..."

"I didn't..." Uhura stopped herself. His state of health was none of her business. If he wanted to believe he was on death's door, that was up to him.

"Dr. McCoy tells me I'm good for a few years yet, but to be honest..." There was a slight, pathetic quaver in Kuznetsov's voice. Uhura wondered if he'd used it to hook Chekov. "I don't feel all that well. Can you indulge me?"

She hesitated. The request was bizarre on a practical level. The message would be subject to distortion and delay. In contrast, once a message was placed in the queue for transmission, it would get through even if the _Enterprise_ itself was wrecked in the meantime - as long as someone picked up the communications log. Was Kuznetsov confusing his own mortality with that of the ship?

On an emotional level, she understood what he was asking for. It was as important as writing a love letter by hand rather than letting the computer generate it. This sentimentality was unexpected from Kuznetsov. McCoy had painted him as a man utterly devoid of tender emotions.

"I'd like to send a brief letter to my wife and one to... to..." The Russian's voice quavered and almost broke. "...to Ensign Chekov's parents."

Uhura unbent. She found the man a tape and sorted out the coding to ensure that the messages got through with minimum delay. She then accompanied the old gentleman back to sickbay.

He stopped at the door and thanked her effusively. "I've kept you at work after hours," he commented, noting the dimming corridor lights.

"I'm on call until this interference stops. You've provided a welcome distraction." Uhura felt a quaver coming into her own voice. "I don't mind at all."

"Come." Spock looked up from the computer in his quarters as the doors to his quarters opened to admit his captain. "Where you able to bring the situation with Dr. Kuznetsov to a satisfactory resolution, sir?"

"No, Mr. Spock," Kirk answered, more shortly that the Science Officer deserved. "The situation is not resolved. Neither is it satisfactory."

"Mm." The Vulcan only looked thoughtful in response to this outburst, not offended.

"The more I dig into this predicament with the Charex, the less sence it makes. Has Lt. Uhura been able to cut through the static that's been holding up communications?"

"Not yet, sir."

Kirk released a long, frustrated breath. "There is something odd going on between the Charex and Star Fleet. Since it seems I've got some time on my hands, I'm going to review all the information available before I speak to Star Fleet Command. See if you can't dig up a little more for me. I want to know exactly what's keeping this situation from being resolved."

"Yes, sir."

"But for right now..." He stepped forward and tapped the top of the Science Officer's computer. "I want you to run a check for me. Tell me if there's any connection between Chekov and Kuznetsov. He told me that he knew the professor's family..."

Spock paused in entering the query into his computer long enough to raise an eyebrow. "A remarkable coincidence."

"Yes, that's what I thought. Chekov runs into an old family friend light years from Earth, just at the moment when our ensign can do him an enormous favor. When you look at it from Kuznetsov's side, it's even more extraordinary. He's taken hostage, has no contact with the Federation for ten years and then when the first Star Fleet ship arrives, one out of the two people we send down is someone he knows... What would the odds be against something like that happening purely by chance?" Kirk asked, curious to see if Spock could figure them out to the last decimal place on the spot.

"Very high, Captain," the Vulcan answered disappointingly.

"I have the sneaking suspicion that someone might have been actively lessening those odds." Kirk frowned. "My orders from Star Fleet warned me that Kuznetsov might be difficult to deal with personally and parenthetically suggested that I send someone who spoke Russian down with the medical officer I chose - making Chekov the obvious choice for the second man on the team."

"But not the only choice," Spock pointed out. "There are other native speakers of that language on board and an even greater number of multilingual individuals who are fluent in that language. I'm certain, for example, that Lt. Uhura..."

"I know," Kirk stopped him. "But Chekov was right there under my nose. It would have been a pretty safe bet to predict that I would choose him."

"Or simply coincidence," Spock pointed out, doggedly pragmatic.

"Yes," Kirk agreed, completely unconvinced. "Just a remarkable coincidence.

The Science Officer directed Kirk's attention to the computer screen. "There does seem to be a connection between Ensign Chekov and Dr. Kuznetsov. Twelve years ago, both the professor and the ensign and their respective families lived in Moscow. Kuznetsov was the chair of the Political Science Department at the Moscow Academy of Science. Mr. Chekov's father was also employed by the institution at that time as a research consultant. It is possible that they could have met."

"Twelve years ago, Mr. Chekov was between ten and eleven years old," Kirk pointed out.

Spock nodded. "Perhaps a youthful attachment predisposed the ensign to react emotionally to the professor's plight."

"Very convenient, Mr. Spock." Kirk frowned and folded his arms. "Remarkably convenient for the good professor. Out of the hundreds of people on this ship that could have walked through the door to that villa on Charos, we just happened to provide Kuznetsov with the perfect pawn."

Chekov was already very sick of life on Charos. Although being barred from the common room was supposed to be a punishment, he had discovered that choosing to leave that room during the hours he was scheduled to be there was considered a privilege. He had been waiting for what seemed like hours now for his request to withdraw from the field of combat to pass through the proper bureaucratic channels. The ensign held a cold towel to his eye and tried to ignore the heated stare directed at him from the far corner of the room. His brief visit from Captain Kirk hadn't put Hayward in a notably better mood.

The lieutenant had also put in a petition to the Charex. Hayward had demanded to speak the minister in charge of the hostages - in person. Chekov thought that might be the reason why it was taking his captors so long to respond. They were so aghast at the lieutenant's unreasonable request they were ignoring his quite sensible one.

Lt. Depp was calmly reading a book. The Charex guard was rubbing ointment of some sort onto the livid bruise it had received in one of the recent altercations. Dave Hayward continued to hold a cloth to his bleeding lip and shoot murderous looks at Chekov.

They were all surprised when the door opened and a Charex official stepped inside. The alien was dressed very elaborately. Chekov wondered if this was usual.

"Lt. Hayward, Ensign Chekov," the Charex said, stepping briskly to the center of the room. "Let me begin by saying that I am most disappointed and shocked by your conduct. This violence against each other must cease immediately."

Hayward was up and out of his chair like a shot. "Minister," he said, crossing to the alien. "It is of the utmost urgency that I get a message to Star Fleet Command at once."

"That is completely out of the question, Mr. Hayward," the Charex responded firmly and turned to Chekov. "Ensign, since you are a newcomer to this unpleasant situation, I'm sure you don't realize the extra effort it takes to maintain surveillance on each of you individually. Normally, we discourage any hostage from separating him or herself from the main group. However, in this instance..."

"Minister," Hayward interrupted. "Do you want to see an end to this unpleasant situation?"

"What?"

"I asked if you'd like for this hostage crisis to be over," Hayward said, seeming remarkably calm and rational for a change.

"With every fiber of my being, Mr. Hayward," the alien replied.

"Then let me get a message through to the Federation."

Chekov swallowed the lump of apprehension that rose in his throat. Surely the Charex wouldn't let him. Surely it was too late now.

"Lieutenant," the Charex said wearily. "The Federation has virtually ignored your presence on our planet for ten years. What makes you think they'll listen to you now?"

Hayward shot Chekov another look filled with pure malevolence. "Call it a hunch."

*** Continued ***


	2. Chapter 2

Pawn

"What?" Kirk demanded - rather more sharply than he'd intended.

"You heard me correctly, Captain. You are to inform the Charex that the Federation is prepared to recognize their negotiated boundaries as set out in the deposition filed on..." The Admiral looked away to another screen. "...Stardate 1947.3. The decision was ratified by the Council fifteen minutes ago. In return, we look forward to the prompt and safe return of our people. The Charex may make some difficulties over the details of the return for the sake of form. But I expect all this to be over - bar the shouting - within forty-eight hours. Well-timed, Jim. You'll get credit for this. The _Enterprise_ goes in and saves the day yet again. The rest of Star Fleet got nowhere in ten years and Jim Kirk sorts it out in less than a day."

"But, sir," Kirk protested, "I didn't do anything."

The Admiral smiled a thin, sour smile. "The updates know your name and they like your face. No one's going to care which diplomatic pen pusher got the punctuation in the right place at last. You're the chosen hero of the hour - whether you deserve it or not. Make the most of it, Captain."

The bridge's main viewscreen went blank. Kirk blinked at the star field that replaced the Admiral's face. "Two hours ago, we finally get through to Command and it's business as usual - no hope for a resolution and now..."

"Perhaps the willingness of the Charex to allow Dr. Kuznetsov to leave in order to receive proper medical care had an impact on Federation authorities," Spock theorized.

"And perhaps this whole hostage situation has just been a good way to keep Kuznetsov out from under someone's feet," McCoy suggested cynically. The doctor came to the bridge to report on the professor's condition. Kuznetsov had suffered a severe reaction to some of his medication. He was now in stable condition, but confined to sickbay. None of this seemed to have done much to improve McCoy's estimation of the man personally. "Once he wriggled his way free, there was no point in delaying things anymore."

Kirk refrained from commenting on the fact that, for once, McCoy's explanation seemed the more logical of the two. "Lt. Uhura, open a channel to the Charex leader."

"Yes, sir." Uhura seemed to be in the midst of already doing so. "I have received a prepared statement of the Council's decision. It will be ready for your signature as the accredited representative of the Federation in this sector in a few moments."

Kirk shook his head. A few moments. Ten years of stalemate and misery and now it was all going to be resolved in a few moments. "Diplomacy," he said to no one in particular, mentally throwing up his hands.

"Minister Afax on line one now, Captain."

"Put the minister on the main viewer, Lieutenant."

They appeared to have interrupted the Charex in the midst of a meal. The alien's clawed hand held something that looked worryingly like a Human thigh bone. It put it aside somewhat hastily. "Captain Kirk, can I do something for you? We passed on the coffee and other supplies. We are most grateful..."

"Minister Afax, it appears that I may have been premature in providing those supplies. The Federation has acceded to your demands."

"Really?"

Two further Charex heads crowded into the camera's field of view. A swell of noise rose from other unseen participants in what appeared to be a lavish banquet.

The minister gently but firmly pushed its colleagues out of the frame. "Captain Kirk, I assure you I could not be more delighted to hear this, but why now? After all this time?"

"At this point, Minister," Kirk admitted, "I really have no idea. May we look forward to the early release of the remaining hostages?"

Afax seemed embarrassed. At least that was how Kirk interpreted the way the alien's great bright eyes flashed reflections from around the room as it declined to look directly at Kirk.

"I think they ate them," McCoy muttered.

Kirk glared at him, but Afax obviously enjoyed acute hearing and a skin as thick as it looked. "Not at all, Dr. McCoy. It's simply that tonight is our winter solstice. Everyone is on holiday. If you want them immediately, you'll have to make do with minimal ceremony."

"I will happily turn a blind eye to any... shortfall in the protocol department."

"In that case..." The Charex gestured at someone, then turned back to Kirk with a nod. "We will transport them up to your ship immediately. If you will confirm the coordinates."

"Uhura, have Mr. Kyle confirm. Minister, thank you. I appreciate your prompt cooperation. I'm sorry to have disturbed your festivities." Kirk could hear a heavy tone of irony creeping into his voice, but the Charex didn't seem to notice. The alien hiccupped slightly and the connection was broken. "Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, come with me."

"Puzzling," Spock observed as the lift doors closed behind them.

"You're going to be more specific than that, Spock," McCoy said. "There are only a few elements of this situation that _aren't_ puzzling."

"Star Fleet Command has consistently characterized the Charex as willfully uncooperative when it comes to establishing diplomatic transactions. I was therefore surprised by Minister Afax's readiness to release the hostages at such short notice. I would have anticipated that the Charex government would have at least waited until they had received documentation of the Council's statement."

"I don't know, Mr. Spock," Kirk said, shaking his head. "Afax said that it was difficult and expensive to maintain the hostages. Perhaps with Kuznetsov's falling ill it's become too much for them to cope with."

"From what the Minister was saying, it's their version of Christmas down there," McCoy pointed out. "Maybe they were just feeling the holiday spirit."

"Doctor, I want you to get back to sickbay," Kirk said adjusting the lift controls. "Keep me updated on Kuznetsov's condition. I may be sending you a few more patients. Chekov had a black eye the last time I saw him."

"No telling what he'll have after you get through with him for getting into this mess in the first place," McCoy said stepping out of the lift. Before his captain could respond the doctor added, "Send Depp and Hayward to me right away no matter what their condition is. I want to do a full work up on them. God only knows what the Charex have been feeding them for the last ten years."

"Spock," Kirk said as the doors closed behind McCoy. "What do we know about Kuznetsov? Is he in some way a very powerful or important figure?"

"Alexander Kuznetsov is a great political scientist, Captain," Spock replied. "He is also something of a thorn in the side of the establishment. He and other like-minded individuals have often served as part of an important equalizing influence in the administration of the current multi-planetary confederacy. His death would be a blow to the Federation - although few might admit it. He has been missed during the past ten years by certain groups concerned with maintaining a balance of power between the various legislative arms of our government."

"I'd never heard of him except in connection to the Charex incident," Kirk said. "And given his abrasive personality, I don't imagine he'd cultivate many fans."

"His personal qualities are not relevant to his intellectual accomplishments," Spock reminded him as they stepped out of the transporter. "However, I must admit that Dr. Kuznetsov's ideas could also be quite... abrasive. He has never been a popular figure."

Kirk turned into the transporter room just in time to see the opalescent glow of the Charex transport beam pale and vanish leaving three figures on the transporter pads. Chekov was in uniform again, as were the other two officers. It was almost comical to see how much military costume had changed in the past ten years.

"Captain Kirk?" Lt. Hayward stepped forward, looking slightly apprehensive but far from the maniac Chekov had described. "I can't tell you how good it is to be here."

Kirk stepped forward and offered his hand. "And to have you back with us, Dave. It's been a long time."

The officer looked temporarily non-plussed, then his eyes lit up. "My God, Jim Kirk! I had no idea..." The two men shook hands enthusiastically. "Congratulations, you son of a bitch - I mean, Captain, sir. Do you think I can argue that my back pay should be what you've been earning in the meantime?"

"I'll put in a word for you." Kirk turned to the female officer. "Lieutenant Depp. Welcome back."

Depp smiled coldly. She looked as though she thought this was all a great waste of her time.

"Dr. McCoy would like to see both of you right away," Kirk continued politely. "He's anxious to see you both undergo a full medical review... and get back on a diet of standard Star Fleet rations."

Hayward laughed. "It will be a welcome change."

"Mr. Kyle, could you show our guests the way to sickbay?"

"Certainly, sir."

Depp hesitated on her way to the door. "Captain, how is Sasha - Dr. Kuznetsov, I mean?"

"He's undergoing treatment, Lieutenant. He had a relapse and had to be confined to the sickbay, but is now in stable condition. Dr. McCoy is doing everything he can for him."

Chekov stepped forward and opened his mouth as if to say something, but fell silent under his captain's forbidding glare.

Kirk thought that there was a glow of satisfaction radiating from Hayward as the transporter chief ushered the two lieutenants out of the room.

"Captain," Chekov began resolutely as Kirk turned to him, "I request permission to see Dr. Kuznetsov."

"Later," Kirk replied grimly. "Maybe."

"Sir, this is a matter of the utmost urgency..."

"Ensign Chekov," Kirk interrupted harshly, "you disobeyed my direct orders and the orders of Star Fleet by setting up and executing a swap between yourself and Dr. Kuznetsov on Charos. Do you have any explanation of your actions?"

"Sir," Chekov entreated uncomfortably, "if I could be allowed to speak with him for only a few moments..."

"Mr. Chekov, whatever you have to say to Kuznetsov is going to have to wait. As I told Depp, he's undergoing treatment. I doubt if he's well enough to see you."

A look of near panic crossed the ensign's face. "Oh, no," he said softly.

"I asked you a question, Mister," Kirk reiterated mercilessly. "Do you have an explanation for your behavior on Charos?"

"I... I... I.." Chekov stumbled for a moment, then sighed miserably. "Not as yet, sir."

"Not as yet? " Kirk repeated with furious incredulity. "Not as yet? What is that supposed to mean?"

Chekov shrugged apologetically. "I cannot offer an explanation at this time, sir."

"Very well." Kirk's lips closed into a thin, hard line. He walked over to the transporter console and pressed an intercom button. "Security, send an officer to the transporter room."

"Yes, sir."

The Russian swallowed hard, but remained stubbornly silent.

The security guard arrived almost instantly.

"Ensign Greaves," Kirk said, addressing her. "Escort Mr. Chekov to his quarters and confine him there."

"Sir..." the protest seemed to burst uncontrollably from Chekov's lips.

"Ensign," Kirk warned. "You're very fortunate that I'm not having you thrown in the brig."

"Yes, sir. I appreciate that, sir. However..."

"At nine hundred hours tomorrow morning you will be escorted to my office," Kirk continued heedlessly. "There, you and I will discuss what sort of disciplinary action will be taken against you as a result of this incident. I strongly suggest you have an explanation prepared for me at that time, Ensign."

The navigator closed his eyes, but said nothing.

"Chekov," Kirk said, resisting the urge to shake some sense into the young man. "Don't throw your career away. Kuznetsov can't be worth this."

The ensign lifted his chin. "Is that all, sir?"

Kirk crossed his arms. "Take him away, Greaves."

"Yes, sir."

Spock remained silent until the security officer had escorted her charge into the corridor and the room's door closed behind them. "Mr. Chekov seems to be intent on protecting a person or persons unknown."

"Almost suicidally intent." Kirk laughed humorlessly. "He almost reminds me of you, Mr. Spock."

"Captain?"

"I seem to recall an occasion in which you disregarded orders for the benefit of someone you considered worthy." Kirk hadn't thought of the Talos IV incident in years. "You took it to the point of letting yourself be court-martialed. I hope Chekov doesn't think he can take this that far. Alexander Kuznetsov is no Chris Pike."

"Yes, sir." Spock had the grace to look embarrassed, or as near to embarrassed as one might expect. "With your permission, Captain, I would like to do further research. There are aspects of this situation that intrigue me."

"Certainly, Mr. Spock," Kirk agreed, suddenly feeling very tired. "Let me know if any of it starts making sense. I'm going to the bridge. It's time we left this sector."

Chekov paced up and down inside his quarters, tormented by the thought of Kuznetsov lying helpless in sickbay while Hayward and Depp were on the loose. If only there was someone he could trust... He knew he had to do something. He just couldn't figure out anything he could do without getting himself deeper into trouble.

This thought stopped him dead mid-stride.

"There is very little I could do that would make my situation worse than it currently is," he told himself aloud.

Encouraged by this grim thought, he decided to put the plan he'd been toying with into action. He purposefully threw himself over a low table in the corner of his cabin - the only piece of furniture that could be easily overturned. A loud cry of pain wasn't terribly difficult to fake. "Ensign Greaves!"

The security officer entered with her phaser drawn.

"I tripped," he explained meekly from the floor.

"Jesus, Chekov," Greaves said, re-holstering her weapon. "Don't scare me like that."

"I think I may have sprained my ankle."

The security guard sighed and hit the intercom next to the door. "Lt. Shelton, this is Greaves. Chekov tripped inside his cabin and sprained his ankle. Can I get clearance to take him to sickbay?"

"One minute, Greaves."

She turned back to Chekov. "You're being more trouble than you're worth right now," she said, shaking a finger at him.

Chekov gave her what he hoped was a charming smile that still managed to convincingly convey that he was in great pain. "I'm sorry."

"Greaves," a voice over the intercom announced. "You have clearance to escort your prisoner to sickbay."

"Acknowledged. Come on you." Greaves helped Chekov to his feet. She slipped a supporting arm around his back. "Is that going to be comfortable?"

"Oh, yes." Chekov smiled at her. "It is even quite pleasant."

She rolled her eyes indulgently. "I ought to get danger pay for having to do this sort of thing."

Even limping along, it only took a few moments to arrive at the doors of sickbay.

"He's sprained his ankle," Greaves said, handing him over to Nurse Chapel.

"I _think_ I've sprained it," Chekov qualified.

"After I carried you all the way down here, you better hope it's broke," Greaves threatened mockingly.

"You can wait outside, Ensign," Chapel dismissed her. "Mr. Chekov isn't going anywhere. Are you?"

"No ma'am," he replied genially as she helped him to one of the diagnostic tables. Greave's phaser pressed coldly against his back underneath his singlet. He wondered how long it would take her to miss it.

"Well, you're in luck, Mr. Chekov," Chapel said, after running a scanner over his foot. "No broken bones. You must have just wrenched it. All I can do for you is to give you a mild pain killer if you need one."

"Yes, thank you," he said, nervously wondering if medical scanners could detect weapons.

"And let's see if we can't do something about that eye, shall we?" she said, lifting his chin. "That's quite a shiner, Ensign."

"I know." Chekov smiled thinly. "I gave Lt. Hayward a split lip to match it."

"I know," she said with mild reproof. "I just got finished treating it."

"Is he still here?"

"I'm afraid so." Chapel turned and rummaged around through a drawer of medical supplies. "They seem perfectly healthy, but Dr. McCoy is convinced they're suffering from some sort of vitamin deficiency."

Chekov thanked his lucky stars for medical paranoia. At least his fellow hostages hadn't been free to act against Kuznetsov yet. "What about Dr. Kuznetsov?"

"He's doing somewhat better," Chapel said with guarded optimism. "The treatment for his tumors was a little rougher on him than we expected. He's resting comfortably now."

"I'd like to speak with him, if he's feeling better."

"I'm afraid not, Ensign." The nurse gently pressed cellular repair unit to his bruised eye and activated it. "He's asleep right now. It's very important that he gets all the rest he can."

"Of course." Chekov suppressed the disappointed sigh that rose to his lips. It looked like he was going to have to do this the hard way.

Chapel took ensign's hand and placed it against the repair unit. "Now just hold that in place," she said, giving him a supportive pat on the shoulder, "and I'll be right back with that pain-killer."

"Thank you," he said, really quite grateful that he wasn't going to have to shoot her.

Chekov was reluctant to take the repair unit from his eye even after he was sure the nurse was gone. It felt very good. He left in running on the diagnostic bed and crossed quietly to the doorway of a nearby treatment room.

Dr. M'Benga was quizzing Lt. Hayward - or was it the other way around?

"So you retrieved us as soon as you heard from Star Fleet?" Hayward was asking.

"Um," was the doctor's noncommittal reply. "Have you experienced any swelling in your joints?"

"No. When did Kuznetsov collapse?"

"He was undergoing surgery this morning. The additional strain of the anesthetic on top of the treatment for the tumors..."

Chekov swallowed hard as he moved stealthily on. Kuznetsov was in even worse condition than they had initially led him to believe. It was possible that the professor hadn't been able to send a direct message to Earth since coming aboard.

The ensign padded silently to the intensive therapy unit and palmed the door control. It slid open. The spider web sensation of the bio-filter tickled across his face.

Kuznetsov looked like a corpse laid out on the treatment bed. As Chekov drew closer, he could barely discern the slight rise and fall of the old man's chest.

"Dr. Kuznetsov," the ensign whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder. It was cold and thin as a skeleton. "Dr. Kuznetsov, please, you must wake up. Doctor... Alexandr Gregorovich... Please..."

The recumbent figure stirred. "Pasha, what are you...?"

"The Charex released me," he explained quickly. "And Hayward and Depp."

"Don't worry." The old man's eyes fluttered closed. "I've sent the message. Your Lieutenant Uhura helped me."

"Lt. Uhura?"

"Yes. You said I could trust her."

"I would trust her with my life if need be, but..." Chekov wasn't comfortable with the thought of Uhura being exposed to the dangers that he currently was. "You explained to her?"

"Wasn't necessary." Despite the importance of their topic, it sounded like Kuznetsov was having trouble staying awake. "Watched her process the message... to Earth via the relay station at Questor. Can't be stopped... Only a few more hours..."

Chekov relaxed a little for the first time in over twenty hours. "When did you send it? When will we know...?"

"You're a good boy, Pasha." Kuznetsov weakly patted the ensign's hand without opening his eyes. "Good to do this... Always a good child... Smart like your father and good-looking like your mother." The old man chuckled. "Lucky it wasn't the other way around."

"Sir.." Chekov began, knowing his time was running short. He was sure to be missed any moment now.

"Glad it was you..." Kuznetsov said drifting steadily off. "Sorry too..."

Chekov froze at the sound of approaching footsteps. Hayward, he thought immediately. The lieutenant would have assumed - like he had - that Kuznetsov had been too sick to send the message. Hayward had finished his physical and was coming to make sure the professor remained silent permanently.

The ensign drew Greave's phaser out from his waistband and crouched down beside Kuznetsov's bed. He could hear the soft sound of the old man's snores along with the incredibly loud thumping of his own heart. He could also hear the footsteps well enough to discern that they were too light to be a man's. Not Hayward, then, but Depp.

Chekov gripped the phaser tightly as the woman entered. He could smell her perfume as she approached the bed. Funny, he'd never noticed that she wore perfume... A medical scanner whirred.

"Mr. Chekov," Nurse Chapel's voice said. "Either you're in here or Dr. Kuznetsov has grown an extra heart while I was gone."

The ensign rose. "I hate to do this," he apologized, leveling the phaser at her chest.

"Then don't," she said switching the scanner to her left hand and holding out her right for the phaser like a mother giving a naughty child the opportunity to surrender a slingshot or waterpistol.

Chekov felt a strong urge to give in and be deservedly sent to bed without supper. "Where are Hayward and Depp?"

"Back in their quarters by now," Chapel answered patiently. "They were both released from sickbay a few moments ago."

This was not a comforting answer. Chekov looked about the room speculatively. "Is there surveillance on this room?"

"Yes." Chapel crossed her arms. "I suppose you're hoping it isn't activated right now."

"No." Chekov looked quickly around for camera controls. "I would prefer that this room is monitored closely. I believe there is about to be an attempt on Dr. Kuznetsov's life."

"About to be?"

"Don't move please." The controls were by the door. He crossed to them, keeping his phaser trained on the nurse and his ears opened for the sound of footsteps. The monitoring device was not activated. He turned it on and set it to record, then dimmed the room's lighting. He gestured Chapel towards a supply nook recessed into the far wall of the room.

She rolled her eyes and complied as if reluctantly humoring an idiot. Chekov had to admire her nerve. He knew she was probably much more distressed than she was allowing herself to show.

He followed her into the nook and flattened himself against one wall, then motioned for her to do the same. When she opened her mouth to protest, he put a finger to his lips and turned off the panel illuminating the small chamber.

"Ensign," she whispered. "As much as I am enjoying this thrilling break in my otherwise dull routine, I do have other patients. About how long do you think this is going to take?"

"Shhh," he hushed her.

"If Heyward and Depp have lived with the man for ten years already without killing him, what makes you think...?" Chapel had to pause in the midst her very pertinent question when she was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of someone approaching.

The door to the treatment room slid open. Someone was silhouetted against the light of the corridor outside. Chekov thought for one sinking moment that it was Dr. McCoy and he was going to be stuck with two unwanted hostages, but the man was too large to be McCoy.

The ensign held his breath as Hayward moved to the bed. He knew it would best if the lieutenant was caught actually attempting to kill Kuznetsov. From what he knew of Hayward, he expected the lieutenant to use force. Perhaps he'd try to disrupt Kuznetsov's treatment in some way. Instead he heard the hiss of a hypo.

Chapel didn't wait permission to do something.

"Lights!" The nurse was out and across the room. She pushed Hayward out of the way and tried to wrest the hypo from his hand.

Chekov quickly joined her, grabbing Hayward's arm. The lieutenant managed to shake the nurse off but the ensign held on.

"Damn you." Hayward smiled as he drew back his free fist. "You've betrayed the Federation."

Chekov didn't bother to duck. He just closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger of the phaser that Hayward hadn't noticed yet.

*** Continued ***


	3. Chapter 3

**Pawn - Part III**  
by T.S. Taylor and Jane Skazi 

The ensign woke up on a diagnostic table. The first thing he noticed was that he had a splitting headache. The second thing he noticed was that there were several security guards stationed in  
his immediate vicinity. One of them was Ensign Greaves - once more in possession of her phaser and looking in a less than forgiving mood. The third thing he noticed was that there was a restraint across his chest.

"No, you don't." The ensign could hear McCoy before he could see him. "You had quite a blow to your head. Even though you seem to have an exceptionally thick one, Ensign, I don't think you're going to want to make an sudden moves for a while, so just lay down."

"Kuznetsov," he said, as Captain Kirk came into his field of vision. "Hayward tried to kill..."

"We know," Kirk interrupted unsmilingly. "Thanks to you, Mr. Chekov, we have a lovely piece of footage documenting the entire incident."

"But the professor..." Chekov struggled to sit up despite McCoy and the restraints. His spinning head quickly convinced him this was a bad idea. "Is he...?"

"Lt. Hayward administered a lethal dose of a stimulant to Kuznetsov," McCoy reported. Chekov got the feeling the account was directed as much to the Captain as it was to him.  
"He had picked up a multiple-dispenser from the treatment room. If Nurse Chapel hadn't been there to neutralize the injection, Kuznetsov would undoubtedly be dead. As it is, he is recovering as well as can be expected."

Chekov was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Kirk said, "None of which goes to explain what you were doing in sickbay with a stolen phaser, Chekov, when you were supposed to be confined to your quarters."

"Lt. Hayward," the ensign asked instead of answering, "where...?"

"Lt. Hayward is sleeping off the effects of a heavy stun on the other side of sickbay," Kirk replied. "As soon as he's able to travel, he's going to be transferred to the brig. Can you give me any good reason why the same thing shouldn't happen to you, Ensign?"

"Depp," Chekov said urgently. "She's also involved."

"Shelton," Kirk ordered without turning around. "Locate Lt. Depp and confine her to her quarters. Until she's found, I want triple security on Kuznetsov."

"Yes, sir. Right away."

"Now, Mister," Kirk said as the bulk of security guards scattered. "I believe you were about to do some explaining. For instance, how did you know that Hayward was going to try to kill Kuznetsov? And if you did know, why didn't you tell someone?"

"I..." Lying flat on one's back in restraints, with Security, one's captain, and the threat of going to the brig looming over one's head, certainly put an individual in the mood for confession. However, Chekov stopped the words from spilling out of his mouth. "Doctor, have been I unconscious for a long time?"

"No. Ten minutes or so."

Chekov bit his lip. Kuznetsov had said the message wouldn't arrive for a few more hours. It seemed stupid not to trust the Captain at this point, however... "I suppose speaking with the professor is out of the question?" he appealed to the doctor.

McCoy shook his head. "He's not fully conscious. He won't be speaking to anyone for several more hours."

"Ensign..." Kirk warned.

"I need more time, Captain," he pleaded.

"Chekov, if you make me wait a minute longer, you're going to be spending the night in a security cell."

The ensign sighed resignedly. "I hope I get a comfortable bed." 

Chekov was sitting on the foot of his bunk with his back turned to the security force wall when Kirk approached the next morning. The ensign was intent on a chessboard projected on a screen in the back of his cell. He moved a rook forward by dragging his finger across the screen. It was one of the few powerful pieces he had left.

"You seem to be losing, Ensign," he said as the guard deactivated the shield between them.

Chekov turned. Kirk could almost see the young man's heart sink down to his boot-soles. "Yes, sir. It would seem so."

Kirk stepped into the small cell. "You're playing against the computer."

The ensign didn't rise. "No, sir," he said, moving to resign from the match. "Against Lt. Meyers - via the computer."

"Don't quit," Kirk said. "It looks as though the game is almost over any way."

"Yes, sir." The computer reported the move of the absent lieutenant. Chekov's rook was captured. "I noticed that Lt. Hayward was released."

"Not exactly released, Ensign." Kirk replied. "We are now in orbit around Starbase 17. At eight hundred hours this morning, officers from Star Fleet Intelligence came and took both Lt. Hayward and Lt. Depp into custody. Dr. Kuznetsov has also been transferred to the superior medical facilities available at the starbase."

Chekov shook his head slowly. "I don't understand, sir."

"No, Ensign," Kirk said, sitting down on the bunk next to him. "I think you understand much better than any of the rest of us do. You see, I have just been instructed by Star Fleet Command to drop any charges against you. It seems you were acting under covert orders."

Chekov blinked. "I was?"

Kirk frowned. "You mean, you weren't?"

The screen behind them buzzed.

"I believe it's your move, Mr. Chekov," Kirk prompted him dryly.

"Yes, sir." The ensign did a rapid re-evaluation of the status of the game and made his choice. "Several months ago, I received a letter from my father. He spoke of Dr. Kuznetsov -They had worked together briefly almost fifteen years ago. He reiterated things I'd heard him say often. He believed Kuznetsov was the victim of a conspiracy. The professor had uncovered a financial scandal at the highest levels in Star Fleet and the Federation Council. However the evidence he released was not conclusive. My father thought Alexandr Gregorovich had suppressed certain important details so as not to implicate an individual he was close to. My father happened to mention that that individual died three years ago." Behind him, a bishop moved across the computer screen, manipulated by an unseen hand. "I almost forgot about it, sir. Then, suddenly, I am face to face with Dr. Kuznetsov giving him this information. He told me that he was convinced that certain people in Star Fleet were obstructing negotiations with the Charex in order to keep him out of the way. He thought that if he managed to escape or persuaded the Charex to release him, the stalemate would be resolved almost immediately."

Kirk marveled at Chekov's confidence that he knew the white from the black in the game he was caught in. "Why didn't you tell me this right away?"

"I would have brought the matter to you, Captain, but Dr. Kuznetsov felt it was possible that you might be involved in the conspiracy." The ensign looked suitably embarrassed, but stuck to his guns. "I disagreed with this most adamantly, of course, sir, but he was convinced his life was at risk. Out of respect for his concerns, I promised to say nothing until it was certain the message to Earth was delivered."

"And that message was...?"

"Instructions to his lawyers to release additional evidence of corruption among certain officials involved in allocation of Federation funding for military projects." Chekov turned in response to the computer's buzz and made his next move seemingly without thinking about it. "I knew there was something peculiar about the situation on Charex. There was no reason for the delay in the negotiations. No reason for Depp and Hayward to be so angry that I had obtained Kuznetsov's release."

"Then you believe that were sent to watch him, make sure he didn't return to the Federation?"

"Dr. Kuznetsov told me the lieutenants were under the control of people involved in the conspiracy. I dismissed this at first, but their behavior tended to confirm his suspicions. Hayward knew that my father had worked with Dr. Kuznetsov briefly. There was no reason for anyone to recall that unless they were fully briefed."

"That letter from your father..." Kirk watched another piece move across the board. "Do you believe it really was from your father?"

"I'm no longer certain, sir."

Kirk wondered if the two of them would ever find out who the controlling players were. "So Kuznetsov was only pretending that he'd fooled you into getting him out to protect you."

"Yes, sir. Just as I had to remain silent..."

"...To protect me?" Kirk finished for him.

The ensign nodded as he turned back to his game. "And the other members of the crew. Until I was sure the message had been received, anyone who knew of the conspiracy was at risk."

"But, Chekov..." As the ensign moved his chess piece, Kirk could see that somehow Chekov had been able to trap Meyer's king between two pawns. "What if you were wrong? What if it had all turned out to be a lie?"

The ensign shrugged as the word "checkmate" flashed on the screen behind him. "Sir, it was my duty to take the risk." 

*** The End ***


End file.
